This Night
by xLazyxWriterx
Summary: (Sequel to 'That Night') Warren and Nathan get a text, and find themselves back in Jefferson's basement. Warren had everything planned out, and Nathan just had to mess with it. (WARNING: Alcohol/Drug use, Harsh Language, Sexual/Rape Situations, Violence)


**A/N: Hey Strangers. Ah, geez. I did the thing again. Oh noes. I'm - not really - sorry. Welcome to the sequel of "That Night." I don't know why I feel the need to write sequels to these stories, but not my Marren stories. Hmmm. Maybe I'm just messed up in the head. I dunno, test results aren't here yet. In the meantime, here's another Nathan and Warren adventure in Jefferson's basement.**

 **Warning: Alcohol/Drug use, Harsh Language, Sexual/Rape Situations, Abuse/Violence  
**

 **Enjoy?**

* * *

 **This Night**

 **by**

 **xLazyxWriterx**

* * *

Muggy. That was the word for it. His room was muggy, the air sticky and suffocating. His windows were closed, and his fan was off. The silence was deafening, a high pitched numbness rang in his ears.

Warren Graham was more aware of his throbbing headache than the layer of dehydrated saliva that coated his cracked lips. His body was heavy against his mattress, his neck stiff. He slowly sat up, rubbing at heavy eyes, instant dizziness coming over him. His sucked in a short breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His heart beat in his chest slow and harsh, and he could feel the vibration through out his whole body.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his clammy hands, attempting to control the nausea that was threatening to take over. His face was burning, and his eyes refused to open. He swallowed dryly, almost choking.

It was about six in the morning, and the sun was beginning to rise. Warren managed to open his swollen eyes, and he could make out some of the figures that surrounded him. His lamp, his desk, his laptop. Maybe his dresser. His mouth was bitter and dry, and the scent of sweat and distilled spirits filled his nostrils. He sighed, his lungs expanding painfully. He pushed himself to his feet, and about fell flat on his face. He managed to reach out and grab his dresser before he did so. His body shook, and the pressure in his head caused his eyes to see nothing but black and red. His ears popped as the world spun around him.

It was minutes before Warren was able to steady himself. His joints and limbs were stiff, but he was afraid to stretch himself. Instead, he reached out in the darkness for his shower supplies. He felt for the door knob, his foot hitting a heavy glass bottle, almost causing him to lose his balance. He muttered a cuss before pulling the door open. He stepped out into the orange glow that flowed through the windows into the halls of the boys dorm. He blinked rapidly, letting his eyes adjust before closing the door behind him. He was alone; it was too early for the anyone else to be up and about. He dragged his feet down the hall towards the showers.

The bathroom door opened, and out stepped Nathan Prescott. He yawned, scratching the back of his shoulder before spotting Warren. Warren tried looking past him, but found his tired eyes meeting Nathan's. He slowed to a stop, and nodded at him. Nathan eyed him up and down before returning the nod. Warren continued to the showers, hearing Nathan's heavy footsteps behind him.

It had been two days since their last meeting in Mark Jefferson's basement. It had been two days since they agreed to end it all. They hadn't spoken since.

Warren stepped into the shower room. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror; hair sticking up in certain places and matted down in other, dark circles under his eyes, the shadows of the bruise that occupied his right eye more visible, the dark stubble on his chin, his face ghostly and his swollen eyes lost, his bent posture...

Fuck, he was a mess.

He stepped into one of the stalls, undressing. He turned on the shower, sighing at the warm drops washed away the remains of the night before.

Stress and nerves got the better of him last night. Something within him woke up that morning, and he had stayed in his dorm. He faked sick, not going to class or even seeing Max. She had sent him a text asking where he was, and he ignored her. Brooke had called him, and he ignored her, too. The only person he didn't ignore was Jefferson when he knocked on his door, calling out his name softly. Panic about knocked him out when he heard his name. He could practically feel the color draining from his face as he slowly opened his door. Jefferson stood there with a concerned look, saying that Principal Wells asked him to check on Warren before his next class. He then asked to come in. Warren, seeing that there was other students around, declined, saying that he may or may not be contagious. Jefferson knew he was lying, it was so very painfully obvious. Jefferson just smiled, and reached out to place his hand across Warren's forehead. Jefferson had tsked, saying he was burning up.

A new look had swirled in his dark eyes as he told Warren to get some rest. It shot painful terrors through Warren's nervous system, and he almost passed out. Luckily, he had choked out a yes, and Jefferson left. His forehead felt as though he had been branded by the hand placed upon it. No matter how much he rubbed at it, it wouldn't go away.

No one else knocked on his door. He had locked it, and dug into his stash.

Warren shampooed his hair, ridding it of the dirty oils. He massaged his scalp hoping to help his headache. It lessened the pain, but his brain still pulsed with tired agitation. He rinsed his hair, and washed his face.

He had stayed in bed for most of the day, only getting up to sneak to the bathroom. He had some food in the mini-fridge he kept in his room, and he had water bottles, so he didn't need to leave for anything else. He wrapped himself in his heavy blanket, and pretended that he was nothing. That he was nowhere. It was much better than dealing with the true situation that occupied his life.

Sure, he had agreed to do it. How could he not? The terror, anger, and desperation that were Nathan's eyes had bore into him had lit a fire within Warren. Nathan had always told him that it was the only way out. Kill Jefferson, and they were home free. It wasn't that easy, though. Nathan didn't think about the consequences, or the evidence that would be left behind. Their DNA was all over that basement, and Jefferson had those picture of Nathan locked up somewhere in the house. Not only that, but to actually kill him...taking his life...Warren wasn't ready to do it again.

Warren bit the inside of his cheek, squirting body wash into in palm, rubbing it along his inked arm, across his chest, and over his shoulder. Rachel was one of the worst, right next to Kate. At least Kate made it out...

...Rachel didn't.

Warren could feel the stinging in his eyes, and he blamed it on the soap. His lip and chin trembled, the images of Rachel flashing through his mind.

There was something about her that drove Jefferson to the point of pure madness. He talked about her nonstop whenever he watched them work in the basement sorting the fresh batch of drugs. Rachel had been beautiful, Warren knew that all too well. She was well-liked among the many cliques that filled Blackwell Academy, and she had a bright aurora around her. Always smiling, always quirky. Graceful, kind, smart... Jefferson saw her as the picture of perfection. He remembered the stories Jefferson would tell him and Nathan about how he could hardly contain himself in class, that whenever she spoke he wanted to take her away, that whenever she smiled, he wanted to hold her in his hands, that whenever she touched him he wanted to drop everything he was doing and make her his.

That was the goal. Jefferson was going to make Rachel his, just like the rest of them. Rachel was different, though. Instead of making Nathan or Warren follow and learn about her, he did it himself. Whenever Jefferson talked of the other girls, he would get that small glint in his eyes, the one that made Warren shiver. With Rachel, he could hardly contain himself. Warren remembered the night before they brought her down to the basement. Jefferson had been so excited, he was fidgety and he talked fast. He was lost in thought, he was touchy, and he was turned on. That was the worst part. It still made Warren ill when he thought of how little decency Jefferson had. All the excitement had become too much for him, and he needed some release. So, he stood there, jerking it, making Warren and Nathan watch. Jefferson liked to have an audience, and they both were to afraid to fight it. They were lucky enough as it was.

Warren shivered, rising the last of the soap from his body. He shut the water off, grabbing his towel.

He had let them leave after that, and the next day, Nathan drugged Rachel at a Vortex party. Warren couldn't think of another time where he saw Jefferson so adrenalized and aroused. The guy had his erect dick out before Nathan even made it down the stairs. He had practically ripped her from his arms, carrying her to the set. Usually, Jefferson only did it once before he started taking pictures. With Rachel, he did it twice. Right before Jefferson could have his second orgasm that night, Rachel woke up. The drugs had worn off, and it wasn't something any of them were prepared for. Jefferson didn't notice at first, and he just kept going. Warren and Nathan panicked when she started to toss and turn. Jefferson didn't notice until she was pushing him away and moaning. Her moans eventually turned into screams.

Warren and Nathan watched as Jefferson struggled to keep her down. He called to them, threatened them. They had no choice; they held Rachel down as she fought and cried. Jefferson managed to finish as he choked her. They were so focused on keeping her still that they didn't notice the grip Jefferson had on her fragile neck until she stopped all together.

Warren pulled on his boxers, and a black, long sleeve shirt. He stepped out of the shower as he used the towel to dry his dripping hair. He grabbed his shower supplies and placed them on the sink. He looked much better, much cleaner. Fresh. He still felt like shit, though. He grabbed his tooth brush and paste from his bag, and brushed his teeth. He told himself to stop thinking about it before he put himself into a mental hospital. He needed his mind clear if he was going to go through with this.

He finished brushing, grabbed his supplies, and headed out of the showers. The hall was still empty, but it was much brighter. Warm, too. When he made it to his door, his foot brushed a small white bottle, knocking it over. He reached down and picked it up. _Naproxen_. Warren let out a dry laugh. The bottle in hand, he entered his dorm.

He wasn't going to class today, either. He had some things that he needed to do, and class would only delay him. He would keep his lights off and his door locked. Hopefully, if anyone came knocking, they would assume he was still sick and asleep. Jefferson may know better, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. He grabbed a half empty water bottle, popped two pills into his mouth, and took a swig to swallow them down. He slipped on a pair of old, worn jeans while checking his phone. There was a missed call from Max, and he deleted it.

* * *

He was here again. Nathan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared at the house with a blue door down the street. The driveway was empty. He hated this. He fucking _hated this_. He chewed on his thumbnail, eyes focused on the blue door. His limbs twitched involuntarily, and the instinct to run made his ache.

He had received a text from Jefferson three hours ago, right after class ended for the day. It said to meet at his house at eight, there was something important to be discussed. Nathan was in the halls when he read it, and he thought he would surely pass out in front of a bunch of Vortex club members. Luckily, he kept his cool until he left the group. They didn't even notice the change in the air that surrounded him. How could they not? Couldn't they read the panic in his eyes, or feel the fear evaporating from his pores? Of course not. They were busy being normal students with normal, shitty life's. They all thought Rachel had skipped town, that Kate - _Kate_ \- was a church freak by day and hardcore whore at night, that Jefferson was an artistic genius, that Warren was a friendly science dweeb, and that Nathan...

They all thought Nathan was a cool, narcissistic, popular rich kid who happened to sell the good shit. They didn't have a fucking clue.

Nathan found himself to be envious of that sometimes. He wished he was the one buying the drugs, not selling them. Not getting them for Warren and selling them, then turning the money into Jefferson. The sonofabitch had to fund his fetish somehow; teachers got paid shit, even at Blackwell.

Nathan tore his fingers away from his sleeved arm, catching himself scratching and picking again. His chest hurt, and it felt as though his lungs had been bruised within his chest. His leg began to bounce, and he sighed. He could just leave. Skip town, right? Go grab Warren, and get the fuck out of Arcadia Bay. He could steal a shit ton of cash from his family, and they would be set. They would be free of that dark hellhole and the gruesome shadows of it's victims. They would change their names, and get jobs, find an apartment and, hell, maybe get a dog. Jefferson would never find them...

Fuck. Yes, he would.

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, choking back a tight sob. Breathe. In and out.

Jefferson was always one step ahead of them. He would sense it the moment him and Warren tried to book it. He would find them, and then he would tear them apart. Then, no one would really know where they went. There would be posters with their faces all over Arcadia Bay. Just like Rachel.

They couldn't leave, and Nathan knew it. Sometimes, though, he liked to think about it, about leaving. He could live with Warren if it meant getting out of town safely. He could leave his family. Hell, his family would probably profit from a missing persons case. He could leave school. He could _leave_.

But, he wouldn't. He was going to keep coming back to the house with the blue door. He ran his hands through his hair roughly, biting his lip.

There was a knock at his passenger window, causing Nathan to jump and a grunt to escape his throat. He whirled his head around and met the dark drown eyes of Warren. Warren pointed down at the door, and Nathan hesitated before unlocking it.

Warren opened the door and hopped into the seat. Nathan jumped once more when Warren closed the door, and he silently cursed himself for being so jumpy. He couldn't help but feel confused and panicked as he eyed Warren. He looked much better than he did this morning. Nathan hadn't expected to see him this morning, and he was surprised that he even acknowledged him. They had an unspoken agreement to never associate with one another during school, especially in front of the other students. He looked much more awake. Warren readjusted himself in his seat and Nathan got a whiff of his cologne. Without looking at him, Warren handed him a small white bottle.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and Nathan accepted it, tucking it into the compartment between the seats.

"You got the text." Nathan said quietly. Warren nodded, rubbing his hands together. Nathan looked down at his own hands. His hands were scarred and beat up, his finger nails bitten down to the point of pain, and the skin was dry. Compared to Warren's hands, he looked as though he had been doing harsh labor for the past thirty years. "What do you think he wants?" Nathan asked.

"You know." Warren replied, sighing. He looked out the window, and an image of Max flashed through Nathan's mind. Nathan's eyes looked out the window, as well. Another day had passed, and the sun was setting.

Nathan rested his head against his seat. "Fuck."

Warren pulled out his phone, checking the time. He frowned, and Nathan could see his jaw clenching. His fingers twitched as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He glanced at Nathan. "We should go." he whispered.

"Where were you yesterday? And today?" Nathan blurted out, ignoring Warren's previous comment. Warren remained silent, a thoughtful expression playing on his features. Nathan's leg bounced as he waited for an answer.

"It's complicated." Warren muttered, unconvincingly. Nathan scoffed.

"Really? _'It's complicated'_? Bullshit!" Nathan turned his body so that he was facing Warren. "What the fuck are you up to?" Nathan glared at him, his heartbeat picking up. He noticed Warren picking at his cuticles.

"I got sick yesterday-"

"And drank until you were shitfaced?" Nathan cut him off. Warren didn't reply, he just looked down at his feet, frowning. "And today?" Nathan pushed.

When Warren didn't reply, Nathan punched at the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. The loud honk made them both jump in the seats. Warren reached out and caught Nathan's wrist. "Don't fucking do that!" he practically hissed, looking around to see if anyone heard or saw. Nathan torn his hand from his grip, crossing his arms.

He fucking hated this. He hated when Warren kept shit from him. Like the binders, and the process of the drugs. Warren never told him anything unless he was told to do so. It was always Nathan that talked shit and told him little details. Warren usually listened, but never retaliated with anything. Nathan told himself to knock it off, to stop any unnecessary conversations with him.

Nathan was aware that Warren didn't particularly like him. He didn't have to, and Nathan never blamed him for it. That's what freaked him out. If he were to be totally honest - and he usually wasn't - he was afraid that Warren would try to skip town without him, that Warren would leave him here with Jefferson, that he would have to help Jefferson track him down, that Warren would be torn apart and buried.

Warren wasn't stupid, Nathan knew that. Warren wouldn't just up and leave town. He wasn't sloppy when it came to planning. Warren would consider every possibility, every outcome, and every little detail before hightailing it out of Arcadia Bay. Would Warren take Nathan with him? Nathan didn't know. He didn't know if Warren considered him an ally or a deadweight.

Nathan hoped they were allies; it seemed that way two days ago when they agreed to come up with a plan to off Jefferson. But what if Warren left before the time came?

"Nathan," Warren's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "We have to go. Jefferson will be here soon. We can't be late." Nathan swallowed harshly, his mouth going dry. He nodded slowly, glaring down at the steering wheel.

Warren got out of the car, and Nathan rubbed at his eyes. Warren leaned back into the car. "Hey, just remember to breathe. We're fine." he said softly. Nathan's vision was blurry when he pulled his hands away, and nodded rapidly. That's right, just breathe. In and out. Nathan kicked his door open, getting out onto his wobbly legs. He grabbed the door to keep his balance as he heard Warren close his. Nathan inhaled deeply, eyes closed, trying to stay calm.

"C'mon." He heard Warren say, and he opened his eyes. Before shutting his door, he reached under the seat.

* * *

The blue door made his stomach sick. Warren pulled out his keys, unlocking the door. He stepped in, Nathan right behind him. The sent of leather and vanilla filled their nostrils, and they were greeted by the darkness of the house. They didn't bother turning on any of the lights, they just headed for the basement door.

Blue was such a sickening color.

The basement was colder than usual. Warren was glad that he wore long sleeves. Nathan flopped onto the couch, and Warren began to pace. Nathan could tell that he had something on his mind, but didn't say anything. Instead, he just studied him. Warren pretended not to notice.

Warren stopped in front of the empty desk, pulling out his phone to check the time once more. It was 8:11. Jefferson was late - again. That only made Warren more nervous. His stomach twisted and tightened when his phone began to ring. The Beatles song 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' began to echo throughout the basement. Warren bit his lip, and sent the call right to voicemail. He set his phone down, turning around to face Nathan who gave him a quizzical look. Warren just shook his head.

Minutes passed, and Nathan was getting antsy. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants, both legs bouncing. He still studied Warren from his place on the couch.

The sound of a door opening and closing caused them both to tense up. They exchanged looks. Warren raised his brows in concern, and Nathan gave a short nod, filling his sore lungs full of air. Warren nodded back before crossing his arms, eyes fixed on the door. Creaking steps and heartbeats echoed in their ears. Nathan closed his eyes. In and out...in and out...

The basement door opened.

Jefferson came down the steps. He wasn't dressed in his usual school attire. Instead, he had on a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the first three buttons undone, and a pair of dark jeans. His hair was messy, his facial hair unusually unkempt. His lips wore a smile, the outer corners of his eyes wrinkling. His arms were crossed, and he greeted, "Gentleman." Warren's throat tightened, the urge to vomit his lunch overwhelming him. Nathan's hands tightened into fists as he forced himself to nod.

Jefferson's eyes landed on Warren, his smile widening. Warren detected the excitement flooding his dark eyes through his thick frames. He held his arms open, as if to invite Warren in for a hug. The thought tightened the lump in Warren's throat. "Warren, you're looking much better. I was worried about you." he said lightly, approaching Warren. "I even stopped by your room again, but you didn't answer. Why is that?"

Warren maintained eye contact. "I must of been asleep. Sorry."

Jefferson's smile brightened. "Asleep? You must be a heavy sleeper." He placed his palm on Warren's forehead, just like he had when he visited him yesterday. "Hm. You're still rather warm." he mumbled softly, tilting his head to the side, his eyes staring deep into Warren's.

Nathan was on his feet now. His teeth clenched, and his blood was pumping fast. Jefferson didn't pay any attention to him. His focus was solely placed on Warren, and that made Nathan's skin tingle unpleasantly.

Jefferson removed his hand from Warren's forehead, and placed it on his shoulder. "You're heating up. Your pulse is rapid. Could it be because you're lying to me, Warren?" Jefferson's bottom lip puffed out in hurt. Warren's body went ridged. His eyes widened slightly and words no longer lingered on his tongue. Jefferson cocked his head to the other side, placing his other hand on Warren's other shoulder. His thumbs began to rub circles that only contributed to Warren's tight muscles. He resisted the urge to shiver and shake Jefferson off of him violently. Instead, he remained still, staring up into the dark orbs that belonged to Mark Jefferson.

Jefferson's eyes left his and wondered down. "I'm hurt, Warren," he sighed, "not only did you lie about being sick, but you also started drinking again." Warren's breath hitched in his throat. Jefferson shook his head slightly, his gaze focused on Warren's Adam's apple. "I could smell it, Warren. I could smell it on your breath the last time we were like this. The last time we were this close. Do you remember? And yesterday, you're room reeked of it." Jefferson reached a finger to touch the bulge in Warren's neck, tracing it.

Nathan was breathing heavily now. He tried to control it, but his heart was pumping so harshly in his chest that his body vibrated, and his lungs felt as though they had shriveled up within him. His eyes were narrowed as he glared holes in the back of Jefferson's head.

Warren couldn't breathe, and he could feel himself paling. Jefferson's eyes darted back to his, and the twinkle shined brightly in his eyes. He smirked as he said, "I thought you would've gotten over it, Warren. I hoped you had, truly. You're only hurting yourself. You're too brilliant to let that poison destroy your mind." Jefferson's fingers traced up his neck before gripping his chin. "I won't let you..." he whispered so quietly that Nathan almost didn't hear him.

Warren needed air, and it escaped him in a silent gasp when Jefferson pushed his hips forward. Nathan was right behind them in a moment, ready to - to what? - strike when Jefferson spoke, "Warren, I don't want to hurt you. Or Nathan." He glanced back at Nathan, smirking slightly. "This is for your own good."

Warren's mind was shutting down, his body weak. Jefferson's hand reached behind his head, grasping a fist full of his brown locks. He brought Warren's face close to his. "Get down on your knees." Warren's eyes began stinging, and he looked away. Jefferson jerked his head back up. "Warren, get on your knees, or..." he glanced back at Nathan. "...I bend Nathan over this desk and rip him open." Jefferson leaned into Warren's ear. " _Your choice_." he breathed.

Nathan froze. _No!_ He was ready to grab Jefferson and tear him off of Warren, throw him on the ground, and beat the living shit out of him. Fear washed over the anger now, and the images of that night came flooding back into his mind. A scream welled up in his throat, and he jerked his head to look at Warren. Warren eyes were wide and red, his mouth parted slightly, lip trembling. Warren's eyes darted across Jefferson's eyes. After mere seconds, Warren's mouth formed into a tight line, his brows furrowed, and he closed his eyes. Slowly, he sunk to his knees.

Nathan gave a silent gasp - NO! - his eyes not believing what was happening. His body shook, and his hands pulled at his hair. "Good," Jefferson groaned. Nathan bit his lip as he watched Warren reach up to undo Jefferson's pant before he was stopped. "Use your teeth." Jefferson's voice - NO! - was husky, dripping with arousal. His hazy eyes glanced at Nathan. "C'mere."

As though he was a body without a spirit, Nathan stepped forward, his eyes glued on Warren. Warren kept his eyes low, shame, embarrassment, and pain twisting within his features. Nathan's blood boiled within his veins as Warren tugged at the zipper - NO _NO_ **NO** \- with his teeth, causing Jefferson to release a sigh.

Red darkness seemed to engulf him, needles pricking every pore on his skin. The hairs on his neck, chest, and arms stood to attention, goosebumps rising along his flesh. His face burned, his lip curled back, his eyes mere slits while narrowed. Tremors shot through his nervous system, and his muscles tightened painfully. The air in the basement was no longer cold.

"Fuck," Jefferson moaned. Gagging.

Nathan's neck stiffened as the images flashed before his eyes. The drugs, the money, the girls, the guilt - KATE - the hatred, the fear - Warren - family - family? - moneymoneysex - holdher downdam n it! Fuck! - stopstopstop - the screaming the bleeding the pain - pain **pain** pain - this isforyour own goooood - NO! - fuckfuck _fuck_ \- WARREN Wecanjus t lea ve -KATEPuriTy - sweatbloodsweatblood - I won'T be So NiCE NAthAn, WarReN - _gentleman_ \- thisisforyourowngood onyerknees - I've been very kind to you both - NO! - YoU think youcan sAve her, Nath? You can't - **rip** you open - YOUR CHOICE - Fuck, NO! - wecouldLeAve - He will _hurt_ you - I know - NO! NO! NO! - bRokEn - thisisnowayout nomatter how smartyouthinkyouare youwillneverleave me - _Nathan -_ together - foreverDEATH - _ **NO!**_

He reached into his jacket.

" _Warren_ ," Jefferson gasped, throwing his head back. Nathan heard the name slip off Jefferson's tongue, and it was over.

They were getting the fuck out of here.

The first shot echoed through the basement, causing Nathan's ears to pop, and the bullet nicked Jefferson's shoulder. It threw him off balance, and Warren fell back. Before Jefferson could even grip his shoulder and comprehend what had happened, Nathan aimed again and got him in the right side of his stomach. Jefferson fell back, a silent scream emitting from his mouth. Nathan's eyes landed on Jefferson's exposed dick, and he took another step closer, aiming. Another shot rang, and Jefferson howled in pain. Nathan pumped the rest of the bullets into Jefferson's chest. He continued to full the trigger when they were all fired.

Before he knew it, Nathan was on top of Jefferson, beating his face in with the empty handgun, and Warren was grabbing and pulling him away. The gun flew out of his hand, and he let Warren drag him away. He began hyperventilating. Warren moved to where he was kneeling in front of him, his hands gripping his shoulders firmly.

"N-Nathan! Calm down! Breathe, remember!?" Nathan shook his head rapidly. Warren took both sides of his head in his hands, attempting to say as calmly as he could, "Breathe. In and out...In and out..."

Nathan closed his eyes, swallowing. His bloody hand gripped the from of Warren's shirt to keep balance. It took a few minutes, but eventually, Nathan was able to breathe properly. Well, sort of. They were both breathing heavily. Warren removed his trembling hands, and Nathan caught a glimpse of Jefferson.

Jefferson was on his back, blood pooling around him, seeping into his not-so-white shirt. Pieces of flesh covered his crotch, as well as the area around him. His face was unidentifiable, and his glasses lay beside his head, broken and blood splattered.

Nathan heaved, leaning unto his side away from Warren. His throat burned as the contents of his stomach spewed out before him through him mouth and nose. He choked, tears dripping down his face. The acids were eating at his throat and tongue, the bitter taste making him gag. He felt a hand on his back as another wave of nausea hit him. Warren shifted his weight, feeling sick himself. When Nathan was finished, he turned away from the mess and faced Warren. Warren's eyes were wide, his skin pale, his hair a mess, and he had a trail of saliva down the corner of his mouth. Nathan winced, looking away.

Nathan's eyes landed on the bloody gun on the floor. He actually did it. He fucking did it.

"F-fuck," Nathan stuttered, covering his mouth. He blinked rapidly, waiting for it to all go away. When it didn't, panic rose within his chest. He pulled his quivering fingers away from his mouth, staring down at them in horror as blood dripped down his palm to his wrist. He could smell the metallic scent of blood as well as the sickening scent of voided bowels wafting off the body before him. "Fuckfuck _fuck_ -"

Warren squeezed Nathan's shoulder, focusing on him rather than the corpse. His mind couldn't comprehend it. Fuck, he couldn't believe it! One second, he was on his knees contemplating the thought of death, and then his thoughts were answered. Only, it wasn't his death that had been granted. Warren didn't even realize that Nathan had brought the gun in with him; he had told Nathan to get rid of it before Jefferson found it. How the hell didn't Jefferson notice? Was he _that_ blinded by his sick desires? Warren's jaw ached as he wiped his mouth and eyes, not noticing that he had tears sliding down his heated cheeks. He tightened his grip on Nathan's shoulder and he could feel him shaking uncontrollably. Warren wasn't surprised; Nathan just killed the man that had been tormenting them for the past year with the tightening of his finger.

In and out... Nathan some how controlled his breathing, and he turned to look at Warren. He still had Warren's shirt in the grip of his fist, but he didn't let go. Nathan didn't bother asking if Warren was okay. The answer was already quite clear: fuck no. They weren't okay. This wasn't the plan, but - fuck - Nathan couldn't - wouldn't - let that fucker breathe after witnessing that. After everything with the drug and money, the girls - _Kate_ \- the abuse, and Warren, he wasn't letting the fucker get any with anything else. So him and Warren would have to leave town, so what? At least now they wouldn't have to worry about Jefferson tracking them down. They could leave - be free! _Forget_ everything and start new!

"Hey," Nathan coughed, "we have'ta get outta here." He forced himself up, pulling Warren with in. The two stumbled a bit, using each other for support. Warren shook his head.

"No-"

"We have to get the fuck out of town-"

"No, Nath-"

"That fucker is _gone_! C'mon-"

" _No_!" Warren pushed away from him. "We can't just leave!" Warren was panicking, his thoughts traveling so fast it numbed his brain and made his vision blurry. Nathan stared at him, his expression filled with confusion and hurt. Warren closed his eyes, catching his breath. "Look, w-we can't just go, remember? The police are going to find...find _him_ , and then find us. Our fingerprints are everywhere, and the pictures..."

Nathan groaned in frustration.

"I didn't plan for this..." Warren whispered. His jaw throbbed and ached, and he did his best to ignore the taste of salty sweat on his tongue. "...but, fuck, good as time as any." Nathan was sure Warren was talking to himself more than talking to him. Warren glanced at Nathan. Nathan had blood on his face, his clothes, and his hands. He couldn't leave like that. "Nathan, go shower."

Nathan looked away from his hands, raising a brow. "What?"

"Go upstairs, and use the shower."

"Wha-"

"Just do it." Warren's voice was harsh, and it sent a pang through Nathan. Nathan narrowed his eyes, searching Warren's face. Warren's eyes were hard, his body tense. Nathan tried to read his expression, his heart speeding up.

"...What are you going to do?" Nathan asked quietly.

Warren sighed lightly, slowly walking over to the corpse of Mark Jefferson, glaring at his bloodied face. He could feel Nathan's stare on him, but he didn't meet it. Warren was glad he took today off, and perhaps this was meant to happen. Perhaps everything was according to plan. He wouldn't know unless they went through with it and got away free. They didn't have much time, though. While the houses were spread apart quite a bit, and they were in the basement, it was possible someone may have heard the gun shots. If that were the case, they may not make it. They would have to be fast, careful, and smart. Warren was confident they could do it now that the weight that burdened their lives was now on the cold, hard ground. This night...This was the night.

"We're going to burn this fucker down."

* * *

 **The test results are in. It's been confirmed: I am indeed batshit crazy. Especially since there's going to be a part three to this series. Yay for trilogies, am I right? ...Oh? Oh, no, you don't like trilogies? Oh dear, it seems we have hit a rough patch in our friendship. No matters, our bromance is strong, yes?**

 **...No? Oh...o-okay. My apologies...What? Why don't I write a Marren trilogy? O-Oh, um...uh...**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xLazyxWriterx**


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